


Musical Lessons

by MidnightCity



Category: Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Classical Music, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 21:36:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5264495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightCity/pseuds/MidnightCity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In order to better understand James May Jeremy takes on the challenge of teaching himself classical music.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Musical Lessons

Jeremy cracked his knuckles. Then he drummed on the table while he kept on staring at the empty page on his screen. He seemed to be stuck right now. So he leaned back and admired what he had written so far. It was beautiful. The best thing he had ever written. Nobody could write one sentence that brilliantly, he told himself. He shut up the voice which informed him that he might need more than one sentence for a whole segment.

“Hush,” he muttered to himself and took a sip of the coffee. Unfortunately he hadn't known that it had been cold, and pulled a disgusted face.

Then he heard someone knock on the table. Jeremy looked up and saw James standing next to him.

“Clarkson, are you busy?” he asked, and Jeremy noticed that James seemed to shift his weight.

Despite the fact that he actually was, he shook his head. Every time James asked if he was busy – making it seem like what James wanted would take hours, it often was dealt in a few moments.

“What you need, Slow?” Then Jeremy pointed at the edge of his table.

James took the invitation and leaned against it. “I wanted to ask something,” James began.

“Go ahead.” Jeremy looked at the one sentence he had written; that really could wait for a bit.

“Erm … you know that lately I've invested a little more time into my piano skills.” Jeremy nodded. “Right, and I talked to a friend of mine who is hosting a charity concert and she wondered if I could play at it.”

Jeremy piped up and began to smile. James shyly returned the smile. “That's great.”

“Yeah.”

“You did say yes?” Jeremy asked carefully.

“I did,” he cleared his throat. “I was wondering if you want to … be my plus one?”

“Sure,” Jeremy replied readily. “When is it?”

James seemed to let out a breath and nodded. “Er … in two weeks on Friday. If you're not free then that's ...”

“No, don't worry, I'll be free,” Jeremy cut him off. “What will you be playing? Bach?”

James shook his head. “No, I … actually, I … I composed something myself.”

Jeremy nodded. He hadn't been aware that James composed. He rarely heard him play anyway. When he did it usually was an instrumental version of a song they both liked. “Okay, I'll sit there paying perfect attention when you're playing.”

James rolled his eyes. “Try not to snore too loudly.”

“You're the snorer,” Jeremy replied in good humour.

“Maybe some classical music might help to educate you.”

Jeremy shook his head. “No, I don't think that a fat man in a dress, and yodeling will help me.”

“That's opera.”

“Same thing.”

“It is not!”

“Come on, boring music and people who think that playing the same bits over and over, on some boring instrument, will sound differently and move the world. Same thing.”

“Wanker.”

Jeremy looked up at James, and maybe he had miscalculated. James used foul words on him on a regular basis. However, not in that tone.

James shook his head, let out a breath and pushed off the table. Jeremy managed to grab him by the arm. Not very hard, and James could have slipped away any time if he had wanted to.

“Listen, I was joking,” Jeremy apologised.

James turned and looked him, something hidden in his eyes.

Maybe Jeremy shouldn't have gone in that direction. He had meant it in good fun … sort of forgetting that James had worked hard, and all sorts of music meant more to James than it did to Jeremy. Jeremy was more a man of the written word, and that applied in music as well. He just didn't have the attention span for 30 minutes of Bach …

“I am sorry,” he muttered honestly.

“It's okay,” James replied weakly. “I can't ask you to understand.”

James was right, and Jeremy knew that. It was something he lacked. Still that fact didn't make the statement hurt any less.

“You could explain it,” Jeremy tried.

James seemed to consider, but he just shook his head. “It's not something you can explain. Or put into words … you feel it.”

Jeremy bit his lip. “All right, then I'll do that.”

“It's not that easy,” James countered.

“No, maybe not,” Jeremy agreed quietly. “But I can try. I promise you, in two weeks on … what was it?”

“Friday.”

“Friday I'll pay attention to all of it. And the most attention to you.” He gave James' arm a slight squeeze. “When you're done – having played perfectly, I am sure – I'll be shouting the loudest and if I feel like it throw some underwear on the stage.”

James laughed. “Please, don't do that.”

“No promises.”

 

* * *

 

When Jeremy reached his flat he decided that he should start right now and give classical music a try. He had most of the weekend to himself. He just had to write one car review for the next week and had to make a few business calls as well. That was it.

After doing this he grabbed his iPhone and began to scroll through YouTube. He had no idea where to begin. He could talk endlessly about _Selling England By The Pound_ but Tchaikovsky? He was lost. Maybe he should have paid more attention in school.

 _One day you might need this knowledge,_ the teachers had always told him. But even Jeremy was sure that they hadn't guessed it would be because of an unkempt, shaggy-haired bloke who had a weak spot for cars, toys and music in every form …

Even in school it hadn't been about what James seemed to see in music. It hadn't been about … passion? Joy? Downright honest emotions? Jeremy didn't know.

Instead the lessons had been about who died of syphilis and where. When was the piano invented? How did a composer earn money? Actually Jeremy knew the answer to that one.

Somehow the hatred for those lessons had also seeped into classical music. It wasn't hatred, no, he was pretty sure it wasn't. It was boredom.

Bach and Strauss were the same people to Jeremy: some Austrians who died while shoving something up their bottom. He was pretty sure the latter fact was the least correct one.

Still James didn't appear to be a fan of the artists directly. At least Jeremy had never heard him swoon about Bach. No, it was always about the music itself.

Jeremy took a deep breath, maybe he should set that aside as well. Not bother if those people deserved a mention in the history books for being able to play a piano and dying in some pretty boring way. If James wasn't able to explain it than it was a feeling, some emotion. Something that the English language couldn't express. The same way people rarely knew about Weltschmerz or Fernweh …

So to understand this, Jeremy should just listen to the music alone.

Easier said than done … Jeremy quickly noticed that he really lacked the attention span. However, he tried to find a way around this problem and simply played it in the background. Maybe he was slightly missing the point. He didn't know. A part of him paid attention to cooking, sometimes writing, and driving a car while another listening to music.

Maybe James would have been a little disappointed that he didn't hide in a dark closet, with only the music ringing in his ears. Jeremy didn't mind, he paid attention to the song when there was a really good bit. This way he had ended up with an incomplete sentence in his. Sadly it had been printed as well.

Jeremy only shrugged his shoulders and took the abuse from everyone who noticed. On the upside he had finally been able to realize that not every song – was it song with classical music? - was the same. Furthermore, he realized that he quite liked Samuel Barber. Somehow he could built a story around a simple instrumental piece. Since there were no words in it Jeremy didn't fully understand how that was possible. However, he liked it. He could let his mind flow, and because there were no words he could also change the story. As long as it was in tune with the vibe of the – not song – musical piece, it was fine. So Jeremy began to relate to the music in some way. The thought made him smile.

On the other hand he had almost thrown his iPhone out of the window when he had encountered _Le Sacre du Printemps_. This had happened during work – earphones plugged in – and without realizing he had let out a disgusted grunt. James' head had peeked up behind his computer screen.

“Stravinsky is shit!” Jeremy proclaimed and clicked on the next song. James had just laughed and shook his head before going back to work.

Jeremy thought that the moment of his break-through had come on Saturday night. During one of his insomniac nights he had listened to music. At first to songs he had been familiar with. When this didn't work he just switched to _Clarkson Teaches Himself Classical Music, No Really 101,_ and clicked through his prior made list of random classical music.

Then one piece had just struck him. So hard that he had felt his stomach tighten and his heart almost hurt while beating. It was beautifully painful, if such a thing was possible. Oh it must be, because that's what he felt right now.

On Sunday he had chosen to give it a little rest. The fact that some random combination of piano and violin had managed to make him shed a few tears had been … scary. Instead he restricted himself to Prog Rock again. That was safer.

His mind didn't stop. It began to realize that Jeremy liked those two forms of music for different reasons.

He liked Prog Rock because it was comfortable, clever, and you could talk endlessly about the meaning behind a song.

Classical music appealed to a part in him that … Jeremy had never been fully aware of having. He had never related solely to the sound, instead always created a connection to the lyrics. He just thought it wasn't possible otherwise.

In not exactly the same words he had told James about this. “Is it weird that I … relate to just the instruments?” he had asked while handing James a cup of coffee.

James shrugged his shoulders. “Thanks, and no, you have instrumental pieces in movies as well.”

“Yeah, but you get a whole scene as well. You have a second information source. Some story. You don't have it with … that.”

“But you just make one yourself, don't you?” James asked him.

“Yes,” he replied slowly. “Is that what you do too?”

James smiled at him, a smile that Jeremy rarely saw.

“Sometimes,” was the reply before James walked out of the room. “Oh and try _Gnossiennes_ by Erik Satie!” Then he winked at him.

This had made Jeremy realize that he didn't understand it all yet. Maybe he just liked it for different reasons and would never truly understand how James felt. People can like the same things for different reasons. After all some people like _Top Gear_ because of the cars, others because of the humour and some for both … What was wrong with that?

Still Jeremy didn't want that. He wanted to understand how James felt. He wanted to feel it too. So he started his lessons again. He tried to _only_ listen to music. Just the music alone, with no other distractions. He could only do that with pieces he already liked. Luckily James' little recommendation was among his favourites.

 

* * *

 

Jeremy discovered the invitation among many other letters on Wednesday. It had most likely arrived on Monday but after a short morning conversation with May he had been abroad shooting and hadn't bothered to ask anyone to retrieve his post.

It was a simple golden envelope and addressed to a _Mr. Jeremy Clarkson-May._ Jeremy smiled at the mistake and shook his head. He opened the letter gingerly and out slipped a simple white sheet of hard paper. The front showed a piece of art with mostly red colour. Jeremy wondered if he had seen it before, but didn't bother to actually think about it. Then he turned the card over, and read the invitation.

“ _The Cancer Research Charity of London invites you to a harmonic night of classical music._

 _The event will take place this Friday (20_ _th_ _November) at the Charing Cross Theatre._

_Entrance at 7PM. Doors will be locked at 8PM. Refreshments are available._

_You will enjoy various artists in the following order ...”_ Jeremy scanned the page until he found James' name.

“The Flowers on My Body by James May,” Jeremy read out loud.

A moment later he burst out laughing.

 

* * *

 

Jeremy had managed to arrive a few minutes before the doors would have been closed. He had meant to be on time. Not exactly 7PM, but 7:30PM. He had to drop off his daughter at the airport. Sadly traffic hadn't been the most pleasant and didn't flow easily at all.

He had – of course – informed James that he would arrive later than expected but should they lock him out Jeremy would just shout his way inside. Fortunately, James had left a note that Jeremy was running late. And as his plus one, they would have been willing to cut some slag.

As the small sheet of instructions – which had come along with the invitation – had told him, he had walked up the receptionist and got a purple rubber band. “What's that for?” he asked as he put it on.

“That you're someone's plus one,” the attendance explained while showing Jeremy the way to the hall. “So you can join everyone at the after party and go backstage.”

“Right,” Jeremy nodded and looked at the rubber band. “Thank you.”

“You'll find your seat?”

Jeremy nodded, as most people seemed to be already seated it wasn't hard to spot. He rushed up the stairs, and squeezed himself through the aisle. “Sorry, sorry,” he constantly muttered as he squeezed his gut past.

Once he sat down, he fished out his phone and quickly texted James to let him know that he had arrived. Jeremy knew that James would be nervous. After all he rarely played in front of people. Not to mention a whole hall. Knowing that Jeremy was here - a man whom he knew and trusted as well - would put James at ease. If only for a little while.

A few minutes later the curtains were drawn. A rather small man appeared on stage and began to introduce tonight's event. Then it went dark and music began to play.

Jeremy listened quietly. The same way he would alone. Only that this time he didn't close his eyes to block out the whole world. Actually, after his dog had jumped on him while doing so – giving him a heart-attack in the process – he had stopped doing this with people or animals around.

This time it might even be seen as rude. Jeremy didn't mind. Listening to music live was always different. He had been at enough concerts to know that much. This time was no different. He recognized a movement Beethoven's 7 th  Symphony and smiled to himself.

Sadly he also recognized a piano concerto by Bartok. He hated it. So very much. Enough to consider turning to the lady next to him and asking _isn't this shit horrible?_

That idea quickly shattered when the lady turned to him instead. Only that she said “This is so beautiful.”

Since Jeremy was a gentleman and British he simply replied with “Yeah” and left it at that. For a moment he wondered if the woman was wearing a wig and if it could be pulled off. _How could someone be so catastrophically wrong about music?_

Then he realized that that was how May must feel from time to time. Jeremy smiled to himself.

A few moment of musical torture later, it was James' turn. Jeremy quietly wished him good luck and looked at the stage. It was still dark, no lights had been turned on yet. Though Jeremy was able to spot a few shadows roll a piano onto the stage and another man followed.

Jeremy would recognize the shape everywhere, James. He held his breath for a moment. Then he heard the first sound from the piano. James was playing every note delicately, making it seem as though little raindrops were falling everywhere. The rain was only starting, slow, soft, comfortable.

Jeremy listened and a smile formed on his lips. One simple beam of light had been turned on and people were able to see James now.

James May, who was sitting at the piano, wearing black trousers, a white shirt and a frock coat. How else had he expect to see him? James May, who looked stunning and utterly beautiful.

There was a moment where he didn't play at all. He seemed to bring what had been played into effect. It worked, he now had the attention of the whole room.

Jeremy had always admired people who dared to not play. To take a break because that was risky. If not scary.

Silence.

Then May's fingers flew over the keyboard again. Faster this time, and louder. However, the music was happy. It was upbeat. Jeremy leaned forward and watched James. Every little move he made. When he moved his feet a little. When he shifted slightly on the stool. When he nodded his head ever so slightly to keep the rhythm. And Jeremy noticed that he had closed his eyes …

Jeremy smiled brightly. James was most likely doing this to make himself forget that he was playing in front of so many people. This was James May, who was playing a piece he had composed in front of complete strangers and a man he had known for almost all of his life.

Then the mood shifted. The happy rhythm slowed, it fell down. It wasn't happy any longer. It was slow, drowsy, and almost … depressing. Not being depressed because something terrible had happened. But being downcast because nothing was happening. When nothing had turned out the way one would want. Still acceptable, but just not … just not right.

Jeremy felt his heart tighten as he heard the notes, as he spotted the ever so small frown on James' forehead. Jeremy wanted to run up the stage, he wanted to sit down next to him and wrap his arms around his body. Tell him that it was okay, everything would be better again.

At that moment, Jeremy realized, that James was ripping himself open, through music. He offered them all a look inside of him. Into something that made his very being.

Jeremy felt his eyes well up, the notes came even slower now. A life that had stopped, where you didn't want to go. Then … then suddenly it picked up again. Fast. All at once as if a storm had broken and turned it around again. It was happy again, upbeat, fast, wonderful, warm, comfortable, an adventure, better than ever before.

Only for a while, a short time, Jeremy took a deep breath and smiled when James slowed down again. This time it was soft, almost like the beginning but with heavier, warmer undertones. Happiness, if not utter bliss.

The song finished. James opened his eyes. A moment later people began to break out in cheers and clapped fanatically.

Jeremy didn't.

Jeremy sat back, biting the inside of his cheek and let the tears quietly fall.

He understood May. Understood a side of him. Understood what he had composed.

Understood him better now.

 

* * *

 

 

After having been congratulated a few times, James was finally able to get some time alone. It wasn't like he hated playing in front of people … at least not much. He was always scared to expose too big a part of himself to complete strangers. That wasn't the most comforting thought one could have. Sometimes it felt like he was ripping himself open, showing the whole world what was going on in this weird head of his. If only it would have been solely his head … but it hadn't been. It had been his heart as well, part of who he was.

If he would have been assigned some piece it would have been fine, as long as it didn't hold much meaning to him. Sometimes he wondered why he hadn't done that. Why hadn't he just picked a random piece, any piece … Why did he have to choose one that he had composed himself?

He still remembered writing it. He had not been there when he had. Physically, yes. But mentally he had gone into another world all together. He almost didn't remember the process. Of course, he knew it. The same way you look at a dent in your car and at your broken arm and conclude: yep, there was a crash.

The same way he had looked at the sheets and thought _yep, I did it._ Then he had played it, maybe thinking that it would be complete horse-shit. It hadn't been. Even James had been surprised by the intensity of it. By the emotions. By the power. He had put almost all of himself into it. It was his worst nightmare. Still he hadn't been willing to hide this.

Why not? He had never managed to answer that. Maybe he never would and that was all right … Maybe because he also knew that only a few people would understand. They didn't know how much he had put himself into it.

The same way an author might give their character the deep and fundamental fear of being alone, lost, with nobody to run to. That was all right, because how was any reader ever to know that that fear wasn't made up? They just wouldn't.

It hadn't taken long until James had come to the same conclusion for his composition. Nobody would ever know. All the people that had clapped would have just thought that it was a beautiful and emotional piece of music. That was all right with James. It should have been more than all right for him … and yet.

“May,” James turned around and saw Jeremy standing at the stage entrance.

“Clarkson,” he smiled at him, feeling his heart beat a little harder.

“You were ...” Jeremy vaguely shrugged his shoulders. He seemed to be looking for words. “... good.”

James frowned but nodded, his heart beating more painfully now. For a man who claimed to be a master of the written word, Jeremy didn't seem to be very good at expressing those verbally.

“Thank you,” James replied honestly. “I'm … er, glad you could come.” Then again, who was he to judge.

Jeremy smiled and nodded. He took a few steps towards James. “Wouldn't have missed it for the world, you know that.”

James bit his lip and nodded. He had known that. Or so he had guessed. James was aware that both of them followed a busy schedule. He had been afraid that something would come up in the last minute. Apparently everything had gone well in the end.

A comfortable warm feeling began to settle in James' stomach as he began to realize - for what seemed to be the first time - that Jeremy had heard him play. And Jeremy was someone who knew him, very well. Almost too well. While that thought had scared James at the beginning, it didn't any longer.

He liked it. Loved it even. A smile began to form on James' lips. Jeremy Clarkson, who knew and understood him. The man who knew to bring him a can of coke when a loud curse escaped James while tinkering on his motorcycles. The man who knew he only snored when he lay uncomfortably. The man who – sadly – also knew which food made him fart in bed should he eat it at night. This had lead to a list of banned meals …

Jeremy Clarkson the man who could translate a _You big old daft cock_ into _I love you too._ And always got it right. Jeremy Clarkson who had listened to him play. Listened to the song James had put his whole being in …

Jeremy Clarkson, the man who had been able to translate that as well … James realized. And for the first time he looked directly into Jeremy's eyes.

Clear blue, with a hint of grey. So many emotions … Jeremy wasn't a man whom you had to translate, he was a man whom you had to interpret. Rarely his words. His whole being. James had always been able to do so and he always would be.

This man had been the reason that James had done it. The reason he had played in front of such a large audience, risking full exposure. Just to let Jeremy see this side of him; a story he would have never been able to put into any sort of words.

Seeing Jeremy now, James knew that he had understood it. All of it. His love for music, and what he had composed. James would do it again. Risk exposure to the whole world if it meant that Jeremy knew him just a bit better.

James shook his head. “I really am glad you could make it,” he repeated again.

“I know.”

Jeremy took another step towards him, gently cupped his cheek and kissed him softly. James closed his eyes and held him by the hip. A soft kiss, a slow kiss, one that lasted for eternity if they felt like it.

“I do love you,” Jeremy breathed against his lips.

James just nodded, he could have hugged him for all he cared. Instead James just chose to kiss him again.

As they broke apart - their faces mere inches apart – it seemed like Jeremy was about to say something. James shook his head slightly, so Jeremy didn't say a word. Saying some things out loud would just make it … too real? No, maybe not that. It just wasn't how they worked.

Instead Jeremy opted for, “Do you want to grab some celebratory curry?”

James laughed but nodded. He always would. “Sure, but I thought it was on the _Banned-Meals_ List?”

“It is,” Jeremy stepped aside to let James pass. Almost protectively he put a hand on James' back and guided him. “But since when do we stick to any rules?”

James looked back at him and winked.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my beta who - not only corrects the pathetic excuse of my spelling, but also inspired this idea when my fingers were itching to write something but my brain couldn't think of anything.  
> And yes, they are established in this one. I thought it'd be more "dramatic" if I keep that open until the end. As always, thanks for reading :)


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